Silver
by Castiel-Falls-No-More
Summary: Rissa doesn't seem like the hunter type. Clumsy. Trusting. Naive. But Bobby says otherwise, and the Winchesters trust him enough not to question him. Dean takes an immediate dislike to the friendly girl, but the brothers are stuck with her when the Impala breaks down. Together, they must solve a particularly unusual case. {Set in Season One}
1. Chapter 1

**First attempt at a Supernatural fic!**

**Warning: I haven't really written many stories on humans. I mostly do animals, so this might not be the best.**

**Please review! :)**

**~Cas**

Dean sat bolt upright.

Trembling fingers shot up to his forehead, which stung, and met the rough surface of a gauze bandage. He grunted at a sharp pain, propping himself up on the bed on his elbows. He felt drunk, hungover. Both were feelings he was accustomed to, due to his constant drinking. His eyes swam and his head throbbed, but he slipped his feet out from under the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, as he looked disorientedly at his surroundings.

The room was cluttered, the wooden floor littered with torn notebook pages and novels. A shotgun rested on the side of the headboard of the small bed, and he reached a shaky hand down to grasp it.  
As he lifted it up, tracing the cold metal with his fingers, he got to his feet. Dried blood stained a shirt that lay in a discarded heap in the corner, and he frowned, looking at the door.

He made his way over to it, hearing the creak of the floorboards under his bare feet.  
He placed a hand on the doorknob, preparing to knock the door down. To his surprise, it swung open easily, and the muffled sound of rock music reached his ears, causing his already-aching head to throb as if in protest. He cursed under his breath as stumbled over a pile of books, scattering them with a well-aimed kick.

He found himself in a hallway, a short one, with a door at the other end. It was slightly ajar, and he raised the gun as someone walked past it, blocking the light for a second.

"Sammy?" He called warily, but his cracked, raspy voice was swallowed by the deafening music.  
He burst through the door, pointing his gun at the first person he saw.

A young woman blinked back at him, a dirty plate in hand.

He looked her quickly up and down, as if evaluating whether she was friend or foe.  
She was short and thin, and wore a crinkled red tank-top and baggy pajama pants. She had pale skin, with just a small spatter of freckles on her small nose and flushed cheeks. Her vivid green eyes studied his face, and her hair was wrapped in a towel on her head.

He jabbed the gun at her, opening his mouth to say something.

She snatched the top of the gun and swiveled it so it was pointing down at the tile floor. She twisted it from his grasp, tossing it and letting it skid across the floor. "Morning!" She called loudly over the music that filled the room, offering him a broad smile before moving to place the plate in the sink.

Dean fixed his gaze on her, fumbling in the pocket of his jeans for a small silver knife, which he flipped open and pointed at her with shaky hands. "Where the hell am I?"

She dropped the plate absent-mindedly, throwing her hands up as if to surrender and fixing her wide eyes on the silver blade, sudden anxiety in her eyes. The plate shattered on the floor.

Sam's voice reached Dean from where he sat at a table to Dean's right. "Woah, Dean, take it easy,"

Dean glanced in his brother's direction, keeping the knife trained on the girl.

"Take it easy?" He snapped. "I'd like to know where the hell I am and who the hell you are before I 'take it easy',"

"Fine," the girl said calmly. "I'm Rissa. This is my apartment," she said. "Now put the knife away?" The girl asked, a fearful edge to her tone.

He glared, lowering the blade slowly.

She dropped her hands to her side, bending down to scoop the shattered remnants of plate into a bag.  
"Sammy, what happened?" He asked, walking over to his brother. Sam sat back down, eyes on his laptop.

"Werewolves," he stated simply. "But get this," he said, looking up from the screen. "It's not full moon. Not even CLOSE," he said with a frown.

Dean slumped into the chair opposite his brother, watching Rissa as she turned her music off, frantically trying to get all the shards in the bag. She jolted back as one cut her. "Shit," she snapped, sticking her bleeding finger in her mouth and carrying the bag one-handedly over to the wall.

Dean blinked. "Why are we here?" He asked in an almost angry tone. Rissa had stumbled backwards over her own kitchen stool, and was trying to get to her feet, obviously frustrated.

"You got hurt. It was pretty bad." Sam said.

"But who is SHE?" He asked. Rissa was apparently out of earshot, as she didn't pay any attention to the conversation.

"A hunter. And a damn good one, according to Bobby," Sam said, but he glanced doubtfully at the girl as she slipped on the tile, barely keeping her balance by clutching the counter.

Sam shrugged. "I trust Bobby,"

She looked over at the Winchesters with bright eyes. "Food's in the fridge. Help yourself," she called, hurrying into the bathroom.

Dean shook his head slowly, getting to his feet and swinging the refrigerator door open. He frowned. It was full of canned Pepsi and microwave meals, so he took a Pepsi and sat back down. "No beer," he commented, popping the top off of the Pepsi.

Sam didn't look up from the computer, but his expression changed.

"Looks like we have TWO cases," he muttered.

Dean looked up from the pop, raising an eyebrow.

Sam turned the computer so Dean could see.

"Seven deaths," he said, leaning forward in his chair. "Not murders, not suicides, these people died of sheer clumsiness,"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Judging by Rissa, this town could just be full of clumsy idiots," He muttered, thinking that the short, clumsy girl couldn't possibly be the 'damn good hunter' Bobby had apparently directed Sam to.

Sam gave him a warning glare. "Seven deaths in two days?" He said, turning the laptop around do he was facing it again. "Dean. One of these guys was smoking while he put gasoline in his car."  
Dean shrugged, taking a swig of the drink.

"Another got his tie stuck in an elevator door! We should at least check it out." Sam said.

"Check what out?"

Rissa stood at the exit to the bathroom, sporting a tight t-shirt with the words 'Panic! At The Disco' scrawled across it in spidery cursive and ragged jeans. She had unwrapped her pale brown hair from the towel, and it fell around her shoulder blades, apparently dyed bright blue at the very tips. She smiled happily, completely oblivious to Dean's distrusting glare.

"Listen, sweetheart." Dean started out sarcastically, getting to his feet. "Thanks for all the help, but I think we've got this one covered."

Sam swallowed, anxious gaze flicking from Dean to Rissa.

"Well, you aren't going anywhere without me!" She chirped, still not noticing the daggers in Dean's eyes.

"And why's that?" Dean snapped.

"The car," she said casually, glancing at the window. "It got pretty beat up."

Dean brushed past her, looking out the window above the sink that provided a view of the parking lot. The Impala wasn't among the cars that were parked there, and Dean clenched his teeth. "Where's the Impala?"

"At the shop," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "We'll have to use my car." She frowned slightly, walking over to him. He turned to face her, but before he could say anything, she had one hand on the side of his forehead, and the other she was using to pry the bandage from his head.

He let out a sharp gasp, clasping his hands to his forehead. "What the HELL!" He snapped, taking a step back.

She inspected his wound carefully. It was only a scrape, not too deep, and she smiled, satisfied. "Yep, you're healed enough to leave here," she said, half to herself, discarding the bandage on the already-cluttered floor and heading for the door.

Dean squared his jaw, glaring at Sam before following her reluctantly.

"Hey, Dean," Sam grabbed his brother's arm, worry in his eyes. "You sure you're up to a hunt?"

Dean shrugged. "I'll be fine," He said, slightly irritated.

Sam let go with a low sigh, falling into step behind Dean as they descended the long set of stairs down to the parking lot.

"Sam and I loaded the equipment in the back before I called the shop," She stepped into her car, a small green Ford, and beckoned for them to follow. Dean opened the back, leaving Sam in the passenger seat.

"What model is this?" Dean asked.

She looked vaguely confused, glancing at his reflection in the rear-view mirror.

"What model car?" He asked, trying to clarify what he meant.

She shrugged. "Dunno. It works, that's all I care." Dean looked disbelievingly at the girl. She started the engine and the CD player kicked on, somewhere halfway through Paramore's album.

Sam jumped a little, startled by the sudden burst of music. "The first man's name was Wolfe," He called over the drum music that filled the car.

She fumbled with the volume controls. "Huh?"

"Wolfe, Kurt Wolfe," he said. "First victim."  
She fingered the silver locket that hung around her neck. "All right!" She exclaimed, clutching the steering wheel with another smile. "Where to?"

**Yay! Done with Chapter One. I'm not sure if Rissa is turning out to be a Mary Sue or something, so honest opinions would be GREAT :)**

**I might not update frequently, so bear with me!**

**~Cas**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

**This story takes place in Season One. Before the apocalypse and all. **

**Books That Smell Good~ Thanks for the review :) I'm glad you like it ^~^ **

**Thanks for reading!**

Rissa walked slowly up to the door to Wolfe's home. She shot the brothers a curious look as they brought out their FBI badges, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"You won't need those," she said simply, gesturing for them to return the badges to their pockets.

Dean looked angry. He was fed up with Rissa, the clumsy, overly trusting and unrealistically happy car-hater, and he looked ready to protest. Sam shot him a warning glance and took the badge, tucking it in his suit pocket.

Rissa paused, shifting slightly before rapping on the door frame.

She held behind her back the small bundle of white flowers she had insisted they buy, and waited, eyes fixed on her feet, for someone to come to the door.

A small, petite woman in her late thirties answered the door. She looked up at Rissa, eyes red and dark hair unkempt. A small smile appeared on her thin lips. "Clarice!" She exclaimed quietly. Dean and Sam exchanged confused looks.

"Hi, Mrs. Wolfe," Rissa said, offering her the flowers with a sad smile. "I'm so sorry. I heard what happened,"

The woman's lip trembled as she accepted the gift, but the managed a smile. "Please, come in," she murmured. Her wary gaze traveled from Rissa to the Winchesters, who stood there, unsure what to do.  
Rissa brushed a lock of hair away from her face. "Oh, this is Sam, and that's Dean," she said. "Relatives. They're visiting me," she explained hurriedly. Dean waved slightly, offering an awkward half-smile, and Sam gave a stiff nod.

Mrs. Wolfe paused before moving aside, letting the three in.

The room was wide, a small door at the other end and a small red couch against the wall. Mrs. Wolfe held the flowers with trembling hands, looking up at them. "I- I'll go get some lemonade," she stuttered, rushing off and through the other door.

The hunters sat down, but the couch was cramped and Rissa ended up squashed between the brothers. She shifted awkwardly.

A smirk danced on Dean's lips. "Clarice?" He said.

She smiled, eyes fixed on her feet. "I like Rissa better," she explained, flushing slightly but laughing and fixing her gaze on her feet.

Sam looked at her. "Um, you know Mrs. Wolfe?"

She nodded happily. "Small town. Everyone knows everyone."

"Hm." Dean said, leaning back on the couch and looking around.

The paint on the ceiling was old and peeling, and the faded floral wallpaper had curled at the edges. The side tables and coffee tables were covered in a thin layer of dust, but the old piano that sat on the other side of the coffee table was clean, suggesting it was used frequently. A shiny new guitar and music stand were propped up in the corner, and Dean opened his mouth to comment to Sam when Mrs. Wolfe returned, a tray in hand. She handed them each a small glass of lemonade, sitting down on a wooden chair and placing the flowers on the coffee table. "It truly is wonderful of you to come. Everyone has been so kind since the accident," she murmured, placing a hand on her forehead and sniffling.

"What exactly happened?" Dean asked, taking a small sip of the lemonade, which was overly sweet. He swallowed, trying to be polite.

"H-he was smoking. And filling up the car," she said softly, shooting a small quizzical glance at him and clearly wondering why he was inquiring. "A-and he spilled some of the gas but d-didn't notice," she stammered, still clearly upset. "A witness said he had stepped in it, and gotten some on his shirt. B-but he dropped his cigarette a-a-and-" she looked at them, a tear slipping down her cheek. "He doesn't even smoke," Rissa looked unsure what to do all of a sudden, and offered a tiny smile, drinking the lemonade.

"Do you play?" Dean gestured to the guitar, eyes lighting up. "I've always wanted to,"

She shook her head quickly, slight venom in her voice when she replied. She was clearly upset that Rissa had dragged her relatives along with her, especially since they were asking strange, uncalled-for questions about her husband and his death. "No. Kurt was the one who loved music. He had just purchased that the day before..." she trailed off. "Never got to play it," a sudden stream of tears fell down the woman's cheeks. "I-I'm sorry. This is a b-bad time. You should go," she gestured to the door.

They set the lemonade down, and Rissa nodded slightly, another smile on her face.

"Thank you for the lemonade," she called as they left, closing the screen door behind her.

"You two seemed to be close," Sam commented.

Rissa shook her head. "Nah. Met her at church. I don't really make friends," she explained quickly.

Dean snorted disbelievingly, thinking of her friendly and trusting nature.

Her smile faltered. "Olivia Black," She said. "Next victim, right? It was all over the papers,"

"Yeah. Nineteen years old. Stuck a fork in the toaster," Sam said with a deep breath.

She nodded. "Lived alone." She said. "And in the same apartment building as me," she held the silver locket between two fingers, twisting and untwisting the chain nervously. "I never thought of this as a case," she said quickly, explaining why she hadn't mentioned it before then.

Dean rolled his eyes. "A pretty lame-ass case if you ask me," he muttered.

She laughed, smile returning to her round face. "You seem to be forgetting that it's middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania," she said. "Boring is kinda _expected_,"

They made their way back to the lot where the car was parked, and Sam shrugged."Lots of woodland area here. Attracts some stuff,"

"But not much," Rissa pointed out.

"Then why not move? Get outta here and go somewhere where you can actually HUNT?" Dean asked, opening the passenger door.

She shrugged almost too quickly, getting in and revving the engine The loud music filled the air and drowned out all of Dean's attempts at conversation.

She sang along, off-key, to the defining blare of the music. It was as if she was avoiding conversation, and the topic of moving had seemed to unsettle her slightly. But the bright smile on her face made Dean laugh, and he turned to look out the window.

She turned the music off, though, and fixed her gaze on the road.

Sam remained quiet in the backseat, but Dean cleared his throat. "So how did you get into the hunting business?" He asked, trying to fill the sudden awkward silence that filled the car.

Her eyes flashed slightly, but she fixed a false smile on her face and laughed. "A werewolf encounter," she said dismissively, hand shooting up to her locket almost instinctively and a glint in her eyes suggesting she wasn't telling the whole truth. "Bobby Singer said you two are looking for the thing that killed your mother," she said in attempt to change the subject.

Dean nodded, but fixed his gaze on the forest on the side of the road once more.

A turn up ahead was abrupt, and her view of the road that lay on the other side of it was obscured by trees. She took the turn, but let out a sharp gasp and attempted to turn the car again.

An overturned blue van was covering most of the road, broken glass scattered across the black asphalt and a small trail of blood leaking from the driver's side of the car.

She swerved off the road, the car skidding and turning around in a wide circle as they cascaded off the road, the nose of the car ramming into a tree. Her head collided with the top of the steering wheel, and she lurched forward, sprawling across the wheel.

Shattered glass rained over them, and Rissa's vision swam before going black entirely.


End file.
